


What's mine is yours

by elliceluella



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Clothes Sharing, Fluff, just two law students being adorably shameless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 00:21:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9047171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elliceluella/pseuds/elliceluella
Summary: It becomes an open non-secret since no one talks about it, the fact that they both like how the other smells, would burrow deep in each other’s clothes for days if they could get away with it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Happy holidays! This was just an excuse for me to write them sharing clothes and sorta getting their acts together.

It becomes an open non-secret since no one talks about it, the fact that they both like how the other smells, would burrow deep in each other’s clothes for days if they could get away with it.

Matt would be embarrassed if he wasn’t so shamelessly far gone, or if he gave a damn about his (absolutely abysmal) acting chops, but Foggy’s accidental borrowing of his scarf is nearing double digits and his heart makes that delightful little skip every time his faux-apology yields that smile Matt never quite learned to tame (maybe that lost cause is for the best, because _Foggy_ ), or whenever he takes that surreptitious whiff after his neck’s been effectively swaddled in a cloud of Matt.

It also helps that Foggy never says anything about the fact that the shirt Matt’s grabbed by mistake in their suspiciously frequent laundry mix-up has been hanging off Matt’s back for five nights. Is it beginning to smell? A little, probably, yeah, but it's still good. (It always is.)

The best of all, though, was how Matt’s bold move to even the playing field by shoving his nose into Foggy’s neck after another tipsy cuddle earned him the fondest laugh and gentle fingers in his hair. He woke the next morning to Foggy lightly snoring into a clutched handful of Matt’s shirt. 

It's a game, a dance. No words, just increasingly knowing laughs and shameless sniffing. The latter's mostly Matt, although Foggy's done it a few times when thoroughly wasted.

But, Matt thinks, maybe they might get more mileage out of this if they got talking. He gives the scarf he’s picked off the rack at the store a light squeeze— soft and warm and perfect, just like Foggy, and makes a decision.

*

“Matty,” Foggy breathes in delight as he unwraps Matt’s gift in the morning. “It’s so soft. And the sweatshirt too, I— thank you. Wait, are you trying to tell me something? Should I not do the accidentally-on-purpose borrowing thing anymore?”

"No! I mean, no. Wear mine as much as you'd like to. That scarf just reminded me of you, is all."

"So...I'm soft?"

"Foggy." Matt huffs out a laugh. "It's a nice scarf that feels really good, and you're, you're really nice too." He hates that he's fidgeting. "And you deserve all the nice things."

"Oh c'mere, you," Foggy says before reaching for him and Matt, never one to let an opportunity slide, takes a long drag and collects everything he can. Apple shampoo, soap, deodorant and underneath all that, right where it matters: a good, warm scent that he would gladly peel layers of clothes off to get to, to live off. No more pussyfooting, he should have done this a long time ago.

Foggy laughs, low and soft, a little shy. A shift in the way he breathes, and Matt responds by giving that untamed smile free rein. He has a clue about what Foggy's gearing up to say, and it's getting hard to keep still.

A secret thrill that Foggy’s going to beat him to the chase curls in the pit of his stomach, reaffirming what he's always believed: that they’re simpatico, that Foggy knows him better than anyone ever has, that they’re better together (if Foggy would have him, that is).

“Hey, so. It's been a great Christmas and I know you’ve already spoiled me, but would you maybe like to—” Foggy’s face heats up in the sweetest way but the smile in his request blooms bright, a crisp ring of a bell. “Wear my stuff? For me?”

Secret thrill gives way to the warmest amber and Matt agrees a little too quickly. His ears might be ringing a little.

He gathers Foggy’s gifts for him into his lap— cozy grey hoodie and dinosaur-patterned pajamas that are “supposed to be novelty but I made sure they were pure silk and none of that synthetic stuff”— and shifts closer to him. The blush in his cheeks in nothing to be ashamed of, not anymore, and especially not when it matches Foggy's.  

That untamed smile grows coy and into something new that makes Foggy’s pulse dance. Matt wears it proud and maybe lets it linger, files it away as something to pull out again in the future. “And would you?” He asks, indicating to the bundle in his lap before sinking fingers into the silk. “For me?”

“Yeah. Definitely, Matty,” Foggy says, laughing. The warm hand on his knee burns in the best way.

*

There’s no more need for half-baked excuses of laundry mix-ups and careless scarf borrowing. They wear each other’s clothes all the time until it all bleeds together and Matt wants to beam at the way he can’t tell where his smell stops and where Foggy’s begins. _What’s mine is yours_ , he almost says, more than once. His clothes only factor into a fraction of that statement. 

Buying sleepwear has never really appealed to him but he reckons Foggy might have changed that because he’s completely unprepared for the way his silk PJs sound over Foggy’s skin, the way it makes him sway closer, completely enthralled and greedily waffling over what’s better: having Foggy putter around in them or hearing the way they slip on and off him.

“You’re doing it again,” Foggy says one evening where it's too cold to do anything constructive, pokes a teasing finger at the corner of Matt’s mouth and chuckles when Matt's smile curves wider. Matt always did love sunshine, and being the object of Foggy's attention is pretty much the same thing. “What’s going on in that brilliant head of yours?”

 _Mileage_ , Matt reminds himself, a lazy mantra, repeats it until his nerves settle down into nothing more than a dull buzz. He reaches out towards Foggy and rubs the hem of the silk top between his thumb and finger slowly, savors the way the tiny vibrations ripple out over the material and play across Foggy's skin. It's almost exquisite when Foggy's breath catches. Matt keeps his tone as casual as he can as he asks, “What do you think of silk sheets?”

Foggy chokes on a garbled sound that never makes its way out of his mouth but he’s a beautiful hue of heat and warm, pleasant surprise; the thrumming in his veins is a melody. Matt lets go of the hem and trails his hand down until he can wrap his fingers around Foggy’s wrist, grins even as his pulse echoes Foggy’s, one and the same.

**Author's Note:**

> Come join me in having zero chill for those two on [tumblr](http://ellicelluella.tumblr.com/) :D


End file.
